Basil Fernando：Six Short Stories of Sri Lanka

140 KEIEI TO KEIZAI
Basil Fernando is very outspoken in trying to raise international con­
cern for Sri Lanka, where, he claims, the rate of violent deaths has recently
risen to among the highest in the world.
He has said: "The practice of law provides a writer with a great deal of
information on what is happening in society".
Edited by Le Roy Robinson, the following six short stories provide
foreign readers a great deal of information about what is happening in pre­
sent day Sri Lanka. Realistic in mode and somewhat ironic in tone, these
stories express Basil Fernando's disturbance at certain unsavory aspects of
social life in his country.
"Albert the Murderer", for example, attempts to show an aspect of
the way of life of the Indian subcontinent, where part of the social
psychology encourages passivity and discourages action.
The reasons for this particular social psychology relate to the peculiar
historical development of the area, whose economy even up to the present
has been predominantly agricultural, whose religions such as Hinduism and
Buddhism contribute to it, and whose many years of feudalism and subjuga­
tiOI1. to foreign exploitation have contributed to re-inforce it.
Whatever the origins of this social psychology, for Basil Fernando it re­
mains a hindrance, a tremendous psychological barrier, preventing masses of
people from coping with the problems of the modern age.
As Fernando has said, even during the renaissance period of Asian
culture following the surge against· colonialism, encouragement of
passiveness was glorified as an aspect of "the Asian mind" that makes it
superior to "the Western mind".
In the recent carnage in Sri Lanka, Basil Fernando points out, we
have continuously witnessed the same kind of brutality also seen in other
Asian countries that is the other side of this social psychology.
The shame that accompanies recent Asian history demands that

Basil Fernando: Six Short Stories of Sri Lanka 141
writers look more closely and critically into the history of their countries.
In "Albert the Murderer" Basil Fernando examines a social
psychology that cannot integrate passiveness with agressiveness or retreat
with action.
In "Konaiya" Basil Fernando describes certain aspects of rural and
suburban people's lives in Sri Lanka. Konaiya is caught between two sub­
cultures. His unconscious mind belongs to rural Sri Lanka, and in the depths
of that mind there is resistance to foreign rule. But Konaiya lives among
Catholic neighbors. Catholicism was brought into Sri Lanka in the 16th cen­
tury by Portuguese. Catholic areas on the coast were more exposed to
foreign influences. The inner differences between these two sub-cultures
still persist.
In "When Will They Be Free?" Fernando reflects on the limitations of
the leftist movement in Sri Lanka from the 1960s onwards. Litus is a symbol
of great dedication and sacrifice wasted in absurd situations in which he is
cornered. The relationship between Litus and his friends reflects that of peo­
ple who look for solutions to the problems of their society but find it difficult
to discover any.
"Tourism Drive" predicts the future. In fact, the shopping hours in Col­
ombo have already changed, and, according to Fernando, there is an open in­
vitation to "night life" in an attempt to promote "sex tourism". What Fernan­
do notices is that a new type of woman, personified in the story by Mrs. Wi­
jepala, has come to prominence.
In "The Old Man and the Canal" Basil Fernando relates the massacres
of the 1980s in Sri Lanka to those common during colonial times. He asks:
Has the political independence of Sri Lanka, with local people taking over
positions formerly held by foreigners up to 1948, fundamentally changed the
ways of governing, of ruling? The very old canal and the old man are sym­
bols of past and present, what happened then and what happens now.

142 KEIEI TO KEIZAI
"Eighteen Headless Bodies" is based on an actual incident. In October
1989 the headless bodies of eighteen young men were found at Peradeniya.
At about the same time in other places in Sri Lanka about 400 people were
killed. Basil Fernando says these events have destroyed many Sri Lankan
pretenses, such as the claim to be a highly educated and sophisticated socie­
ty. The professor in the story and Peradoniya University are symbols of that
pretense. Fernando says it's not easy anymore to claim to be a Sri Lankan in­
tellectual.
*****
Albert the Murderer
I)
Albert was the "samurai" of the village. That was why the villagers
called him Minimaru Albert. They did that to insult him, blackmail him, cor­
ner him, and thereby justify their passiveness.
Joe recalled Santha telling him about Albert in a passionate way after
Albert had died just a few months before.
All three of them belonged to a village near Colombo. Joe had come to
the yillage about forty years back, after getting married. A civil servant then,
he was very much sought after; he soon became very much a part of the
village. Santha, who was the first university graduate of the village was
about twenty years younger than Joe, and was eager to discuss village per­
sonalities. Of late he had become fascinated by what he had heard about
Japanese samurai.
The people of the village always referred to Albert as Minimaru
Albert. A long time before he had been accused of murdering someone, but
after a trial the court had acquitted him as there was not enough evidence to
prove the charge. But the court verdict did not change the people's views.
They always referred to Albert as Minimaru Albert. In his absence. His
2)
children were called Albert the Murderer's children.

Basil Fernando: Six Short Stories of Sri Lanka 143
There was some sort of mercilessness towards Albert that was quite
unusual to the villagers, who had always tried to show that that they were
forgiving. They had been forgiving of corrupt politicians, bad priests, and
even murderers.
People often forgive those who hurt them. But they are unforgiving of
their own who challenge them - those who make them feel that they are
3)
afraid of themselves.
Joe remembered Albert well as a young man. For Albert was among
the most manly men that Joe had seen in his life, judged by physical ap­
pearances, of course. Tall, well built, dark body, sharp features. Some
iron like quality. Albert had a quick walk, a very quick way of doing things.
He was always looking for something to do. One may say he was always in
search of action.
A favorite topic in the conversations between Joe and Santha was the
habits of the people of this village. Santha was often critical of these villagers
in a bitter way. Joe did not feel bitter, but he did agree that there was
something in what Santha said.
"See our people," Santha would often say. "How they resent action.
How they like to retire to their souls. How they see action as something that
4)
will ultimately bring trouble, suffering".
"Perhaps the people are not wrong," Joe sometimes argued, more
with a view to provoke his younger friend than to make a point. Joe was one
who liked to enjoy a good conversation. "You know the way Albert used to
get beaten up by the police for things he had never done. Perhaps these peo­
ple know from centuries of experience that that was how things always end­
ed up".
"Well, I suppose you include Albert when you say always. You may
win the argument by a dirty debating trick," Santha would say, adding "You
people know how to say the wrong thing in such a way that it sounds right. "

144 KElEl TO KElZAl
"You know that Albert never got intimidated by those beatings. He
had contempt for those police worms who bravely assaulted a person as a
gang when the fellow was already tied up. When any of them met Albert on
the road he would put on a shy smile and disappear soon. Sometimes if two
or three of them met him they would even tell him not to keep those things in
mind. These things were common knowledge in the village. The villagers
secretly appreciated these qualities. But they created the impression that
they condemned him".
"But he did not die a hero. He died at the feet of the village people
after going on his crutches to their doorsteps begging". Joe said this to see
how angry his friend would be.
But Santha argued calmly, with a twist in his eyes, as if to say, Well,
you are trapped now. I was waiting for you to talk about the begging.
"If you cut the wings of a bird could that bird be blamed for not behav­
ing like a bird? You know how it happened. Some fellow was hired to kill
5\
Albert. But he was mortally scared of him. So he waits, waits until Albert is
fast asleep, then chops his leg in the dark. Probably he thought he was cut­
ting Albert's neck. Then at the hospital the doctors do not do anything at all
to save the leg. Albert comes out of the hospital minus a leg. Yes, a bird
without a wing. You can't fly with one wing. You have to have two.
It is not what happened to Albert that is important. But how happy (of
course, secretly) the villagers were when they saw Albert going begging on
crutches. They felt that their beliefs were confirmed. They told their
children, Ah, that's a good example to learn from; if you jump too much you
end up breaking your legs! And that way the people of the village once again
mentally adjusted themselves to their unhappy lives."
suicide?"
"But," asked Joe, "in these circumstances would not a samurai commit
"But Albert was a samurai who did not know that he was one, " Santha

Basil Fernando: Six Short Stories of Sri Lanka 145
replied almost apologetically.
*****
Konaiya
Noone really knew the name of Konaiya. One may guess it as
Koranaris, as, for example, the name of Manaiya was Manuel. But Manaiya
was a Catholic, so it was not difficult to guess his name. But Konaiya was a
BuddhistCthough not a practicing one), and Koranaris was not a common
Buddhist name.
Not that the name had any significance. Konaiya belonged to the large
majority of Sri Lankan people those days whose lives were not considered in
any way significant by themselves or by others. Konaiya himself would not
have considered his name had any significance.
Perhaps the only thing that he may have considered important, judging
by his utterances, is that he was not a part of the village in which he had lived
most of his life. He had come to that village as a child of ten or so, but who
knows? There was no significance in exact dates and times in the society (if
8 )
you may call it that) in which he had lived the useful part of his life. He said
9)
he had come from Matara and no one disputed that.
He had begun to work early - that is to say, as a child. Males grew
up to work. That was the rule. Not that the people who took him to their
house and gave him food to eat did so to get him to work. To say that would
be very unkind.
For the people yet another person was never too much those days. A
rice meal could be shared in a way that no one would feel that he or she did
not have enough. A whole family could share a mango and still keep a piece
for one who had not come home yet.
Playing and working happened together, and often continued that way
for most of one's life. A grim seriousness and a carefree attitude to life co-ex-

146 KEIEl TO KElZAl
isted.
When he was eightean or so Konaiya could find his work on his own.
The older women in the village began to tease him for not having a woman of
his own. And then they found him a beautiful young girl from a neighboring
village.
A villager allowed him to put up a little house in the back yard of his
property. There was no fear of tenants and lessees then. And people could
not think of charging any money for a small favor like that. If idle land could
be put to use by some one, is it not better to allow him to use it than to leave
it vacant? Villagers felt that there was some emptiness in a property unoc­
cupied and in a person not married.
Despite all the favors the people did him Konaiya never felt part of the
village even after living many decades in it.
He was a very proud man, the villagers sometimes said among
themselves. Perhaps it was something different. Something mysterious like
his childhood. A mysterious inability to assimilate.
He belonged to a people far far away. Though he did not know those
people, and even though there were no such people anymore, it made no dif­
ference. He could not really belong to anything else.
Not that he made his life miserable because of it. He lived just as nor­
mally as everyone else. But the sense of belonging or not belonging is not
something that you could acquire, as the past is something over which man
had no power. The past lives within you without your having invited it. And
in the case of Konaiya it overpowered his present.
Though he did not reason it out, he may have argued this way if he had
done so. Here is a Catholic village with habits of life acquired from Por­
tuguese times. Not only religion - that was a very small part of the mat­
ter - but habits mental and social.
And he belonged to the world that resisted such influences all

Basil Fernando: Six Short Stories of Sri Lanka 147
101
throughout and tried to remain on its own.
He was part of a historical opposition, a passive rebellion, which the
good and kind neighbors of his were not aware of.
There was an anger seething within him for which there was no im­
mediate cause. He constantly bottled up that anger and remained calm and
peaceful like the rest. Only his wife perhaps knew the devil that was within
him.
He loved her very much, but quarrelled bitterly with her, but did not
want anyone else to know it. He was attached to his image of a peaceful
passive man.
There is no record in memory of any quarrel he had with anyone. That
may be why he was always chosen as the umpire when Elle matches were
played by teams of this village against teams of other villages. Attending to
that task, he wore a coat and went about like a real judge.
Though what he did or said in real life was of no significance, his word
was never challenged when he was the one judging a game. And everybody
said that he gave absolutely correct verdicts.
When he was over fifty a rich lady asked him to look after a few acres
of land belonging to her family. The land was in the jungle. He accepted this
task immediately. He felt no sadness in leaving the village. Perhaps he
wanted to be alone. Perhaps in that way he would not have to keep on ad­
justing to a situation he could not really get adjusted to.
In the jungle the roots of his past began to be watered as he was
cultivating the rich woman's land. That part of the jungle became a fine
vegetable plot. The coconut trees grew and after a few years bore fruit. He
was now absolutely a part of his past. The memory of the years he had lived
in the Catholic village was not of much meaning to him. A past of which he
had no direct experience hacd more maaning.
Years went by. He grew old. He had no children. His wife was still

148
KEIEI TO KEIZAI
strong. One or two of her relatives, young men, came and helped in the work,
and they put up a small hut and lived there.
These arrivals had angered the rich lady, he later learned. She did not
call him or send any messages to him directly. Perhaps she could not do that
to his face. But when she blamed him to others the message would reach
him, as she would have known.
This unkindness hurt him a lot. He went to the rich lady's house and
yelled at her. She did not say anything. Perhaps she felt sorry. Or maybe she
was disturbed by the change that had come upon him. She later heard that he
was going about blaming her and cursing her.
Everyone was surprised by his behavior!
Sometime later when his wife died people saw that he was very ter­
rified. When the coffin was closed, he fainted. And within a few days after
II)
the seventh day Dane he became badly ill.
When he was very ill, the rich woman came and took him away. She
had taken him to hospital, it was said. But when she demolished his little
house and the hut, it was rumored that she had in fact taken him to a home
for the aged run by some charitable organization and that he would never
reture.
But within a few weeks Konaiya returned. Having found his house
demolished he went to see the rich woman. He was told that she had gone
away for a few days.
He went to the parish priest at the church to complain. The priest
allowed him to sleep at night in the corridor of the chorch. After a few days
he began to purge and even got his clothing dirty. The priest took him to
hospital where he got cured.
But he did not return again. He went back to the faraway village he
had come from. As there was no one to receive him, he began to beg in the
nearby town.

Basil Fernando: Six Short Stories of Sri Lanka 149
*****
When Will They Be Free?
"Have we reached the dead end?"
Litus remained silent. It was too troublesome a question to answer in
words. On the other hand, the answer was obvious.
Above all he was very tired, very tired.
Just outside there were orchids. That was the pastime of his friend.
Friendships between Catholic priests were usually very deep. Maybe
something like friendships you built up when you lived in a residential
university. Or when you work together for a common cause you feel very
much - say, for example, for a revolutionary party, so long as you feel that
you are doing the correct thing.
After suffering a heart attack in his late forties, Father Amarasinhe
grew orchids because he wanted a quiet way of life. He had been given a
small church to look after.
The orchids were tended by village girls who were thereby taught a
domestic trade and were able to make some pocket money.
The church was in a place far away from Colombo; it was essentially
rural but situated near a junction at the Kandy Road.
Litus had chosen for his retreat this place because above all he wanted
to escape from his comrades of recent times. He could visualize the whole
episode that would take place if they came. What they would say. What he
could not say.
The art of bringing back a runaway comrade had a very simple pro­
cedure. He himself had done it with regard to others many times. But when a
person wanted to run away finally he would make sure that he could not be
easily approached or traced. More intelligent ones would even find some job
abroad.

150 KEIEI TO KEIZAI
On the one hand, there is a reality you cannot run away from. You do
not want to run away from it. On the other hand there was the absurdity of
the proposed solution which you have come to realize.
But you are not to talk about the solution. If you do you become a refor­
mist all at once. Anyway they will say you are really making an excuse to run
away from reality.
But he had not wanted to run away from reality, the reality of his coun­
try. If he did he could have remained where he was - in the priesthood. He
was quite comfortable as a priest, and he had good prospects. It was a matter
of learning the tricks of the trade if he wanted to go higher. And even now,
five years after leaving, he could go back. "Once a priest always a priest".
Why should he run away anyway? This reality was nothing but his
own reality too. Sometimes he was confused by what he heard about the in­
tellectuals as people who are "outsiders". Maybe in the West, he thought.
Every nerve of his brain was involved with the situation of the poor.
That was not some conscious choice. Everybody who came from his
background was like that - though most did not want to make it obvious,
and some did not directly think about it at all. They merely acted and reacted
instinctively. His reality and other people's reality were not basically dif­
ferent. His confusion was their confusion too. Their confusion was his confu­
sion too. What one is confused about generally shows where one is.
And will not the reality of poverty that exists in any village in Sri
Lanka fail to confuse anyone with a brain? Poverty is no abstraction. It is
something which eats into you, into your nerves, eyes, ears, anything that
may be called the soul and body.
Poverty determines everything. The way you get angry. The way you
feel ashamed. What makes you afraid. What makes it impossible for you to
relax. How you act / react to everything.
Poverty makes the cynic and the brave man alike, if there is anything

Basil Fernando: Six Short Stories of Sri Lanka 151
called bravery.
Behind the tone of your speech, behind the confidence or lack of con­
fidence in your gestures, behind your smile or lack of smile, the way you look
at your children, the way they look at you, the way people take to religion or
do not take to religion, behind all that, behind the real and the unreal, there is
the reality of poverty.
And what was his village but a geographical boundary sustaining
within itself a limbo of poverty?
ty.
Poverty was the purifier and the corrupter. Poverty was the total reali-
It was a village of fishermen close to Colombo. Their reality was writ­
ten in their faces, bodies, expressions, way of walking, festivals and
ceremonies.
Everyday was just the same.
That's where his father had spent his childhood, his father's father too,
and he too. There had been few external changes. The depth of poverty was
never touched. So when they speak of running away from reality what were
they talking about?
His comrades were very confused too. But that was something that
one was not supposed to admit. They made themselves believe they were
very clear thinkers. In fact, they were the clearest thinkers of the nation. It
was very unfortunate that the people were not following them. But someday
they would.
All these thoughts have been there over and over again. And just now
as he kept silent to the question posed by his friend those thoughts were
there again.
"Well, I understand your position. Why not put up a fight inside?"
That was not a lie, Litus knew. Here is a man not easily willing to give
up. What what chance was there for such a fight?

152 KEIEI TO KEIZAI
Between him and his friend there was a relationship that had gone on
for years. They had contributed to each other's decisions in many ways,
rather almost in every way in recent years.
They got to know each other after the insurrection of 1971, when sud­
denly all their generation began to think very intensely. He was 28, then, an
assistant priest living at the archbishop's house. His friend who was a few
years younger was a final year student of law and a leader of the student
movement. He was preoccupied all the time, thinking all the time, talking all
the time.
Inside his room in the arch-bishop's house they used to meet with
others who would drop in and out as they had time. They discussed
everything from Thomism to Marxism. The lunch would always be from the
archbishop's table.
The resolutions for the university Catholic federation were often
drafted there, some calling on the archbishop to dispossess himself and join
the poor without just talking bullshit about the poor.
Despite such diversions they were very serious all the time, trying all
the time to find out what would solve our people's problems.
That was about seven years ago. They had made many choices
thereafter, but their relationship remained essentially the same.
His friend Joseph graduated from the university, joined the revolu­
tionary league. He did not want to practice law, so he found an instructor's
post in a university. He did not have much work, so he could devote his time
to his league.
Litus followed everything they did. He read their paper, which was
published twice a week, and went to their meetings, theoretical discussions,
and from a distance followed their May Day rally, which was small and
spirited.
Litus had heard that the leaders of this league were somewhat

Basil Fernando: Six Short Stories of Sri Lanka 153
suspicious of him becuase he was a priest. But their suspicion died away slow­
ly. One day he decided to give up his robes and he joined the league.
It was a decision that caused great pain to his family, who were very
proud of his being a priest.
His mother, who followed him in every decision in his life, who had
always told him to work for the poor, could not understand why he had to
give up being a priest to fight for the poor.
His mother had achieved her life's ambition the day he was ordained.
And now he was to disappoint her in a very deep way.
But like many people of his generation he was willing to make big
sacrifices. Lives of many young people ended up in ways very painful to their
parents those days. For example, many died in the insurrection and many
went to jail without committing crimes. Of course, these people were also tor­
tured in jail as a result of which some had permanent disabilities.
Hoping against hope that the pain of his mother would be lessened he
informed the Vicar General of his decision. The response was not what he
had expected. He thought that the Vicar General would tell him not to go
away. Instead he took a bottle of arrack and shared it with Litus and wished
him well. The old man too, it was obvious, was very tired and unhappy.
All these details were known to Joseph. And almost every detail of
what had happened each day for the next five years up to this moment when
Litus has come in search of him to his priest friend's house, trying to depart
from a situation in which he felt trapped.
Each day of the five years had been a busy one from early morning to
late night. Paper printing, paper sales, organizing of locals, collection of
funds, discussions everywhere, area committee and central committee
meetings. He was busier than he was as a priest.
In between these jobs they would find time for meals and now and then
a drink. There was not much money at any time but there was enough to live

154 KEIEI TO KEIZAI
day by day.
But deep inside Litus there was an unresolved question. A question
arising from the limbo of poverty he saw in his childhood and has seen ever
since. The same question which sent him to the seminary and later made him
decide to leave the priesthood.
When will his people be free?
In the league there were people obsessed with the same problems. And
deep inside them they had deep doubts, doubts as deep as those that were
there among his priest friends.
Not that there was any hesitation to sacrifice. But are sacrifices ends in
themselves? He must think this out for himself again. Yes, in his mind he had
reached a dead end.
Joseph was an understanding friend, he knew. He had the same pro­
blem. He was even more committed than himself, Linus always thought, but
he wanted to fight out things to the bitter end. Whatever be the outcome he
would will his way, Litus was sure.
This was parting, no doubt. Break with someone who has shared your
deepest thoughts and you bring in a loneliness which is hard to describe in
words. You can live far away and for a long time and still be very deeply
close.
That is not so when an ideological bond breaks. You don't become
angry. You feel sad and lonely, knowing that you will never meet the same
way again.
"I have got to go," Joseph said rising.
They could read each other's mind. But there was a sadness in
Joseph's eyes which was unusual. He had forgotten to hide it the way he
usually did.
Litus watched Joseph going toward the junction. His walk lacked the
usual manner, the usual confidence. But he was carrying himself with dignity

Basil Fernando: Six Short Stories of Sri Lanka 155
as he always did.
Even if you are very very tired you'll still find it difficult to sleep if you
are bothered about too many things. Zen masters have said eat when you eat
and sleep when you sleep. But there were times when it was not so easy to do
that.
The quietness of the surroundings and the comfort of the bed given to
him by his priest friend brought more and more thoughts to Litus's mind in­
stead of sleep.
The first clear thought that came to him was something like this:
During the last five years of my life I have spoken to thousands and
thousands of people. Spoken to them in private and in public. By way of
arguments and by other means. But what exactly was it that I was trying to
tell them?
"Yes, now, Litus, answer," he told himself. In fact he challenged
himself with some sort of internal smile.
"Absolutely nothing!" a third person from within him answered with
even more humor.
"Well, I was genuine. I was committed. I was ready for any sacrifice,"
the first person to begin the conversation said, as if asking the other two in­
side him for some mercy.
"So what?" the other two asked at the same time and joined each other
in a hearty laugh.
"If all that I had wanted was to speak to the people and in doing so I
have not told them anything, what have I been doing?" he asked the other
two, looking for some guidance as it were.
But there was no replay anymore. There was only more sleeplessness.
On the one hand, there was this inescapable reality of poverty. On the
other hand, there was the desire to do something to end it. But there was no
way to find out what that something was that one has got to do.

156 KEIEI TO KEIZAI
So there was a point at which even failures do not show how success
could have been achieved.
So there is no way out of the zero point.
Litus continued to think while his priest friend happily slept.
Date: July 7, 1991
*****
Tourism Drive
According to the popular view, Juli Hatha is a very bad day. People
also speak of Mala Julia, dead July, to mean a deadly misfortune. (Editor's
note)
Place: Military Headquarters, Tourism Branch
This is near the Galleface Green. The building first housed the first
Parliament of Sri Lanka. The statues of all the Prime Ministers who are dead
are still there. The statues are turning their backs to the building. They are
looking at the Indian Ocean. There are many jokes as to why they are doing
that. (Editor's note)
Topic: Drive to Promote Tourism
Attendance: Special Invitees Only
(Our notes about this meeting are from Arun Serasinghe, till recently a
journalist. Having realized that journalism is not very attractive these days in
Sri Lanka as the people who have come to matter do not read anything at all,
he has decided to try tourism promotion for which people with sophisticated
backgrounds are invited. His own comments are included within paren­
theses. Editor's note)
The audience was about ten. Nine women and myself. The age of the
military offers very special privileges to smart women. Military men like to
call themselves "Fighters and Lovers" .
They are no longer the same military men you know. Say for example

158 KEIEI TO KEIZAI
why. It is very simple. One of the subjects I studied was economics. (She look­
ed at us in the audience with a superior look.) It is all about supply and de­
mand. You must give the tourists what they demand. Do you think that they
are coming all the way to our country to see the mountains? No, they come to
see us". (The women in the audience warmly joined her with smiles all
over) .
"But, of course," Miss Wijepala continues, "we have a psychological
factor to overcome just now. People are afraid of this country now. That is
due to the mishandling of our public relations. What we do in our country is
our own business."
(The military man nods approvingly)
"What is the use of the outside world knowing that. Whatever happens
in the countryside we must make it appear everything is normal. That means
that normal services are available at all times in Colombo ...
This approach will also help to keep too inquisitive foreigners other­
wise busy, and will attract foreign tourist agencies, and tourists will again
say that his country is paradise indeed."
"Any questions?" the military man asks as if he had just finished a brief­
ing of junior officers.
A girl who is seated in front has a comment. "Well, our rural girls don't
like this, you know".
Miss Wijepala is on her feet again. It does not seem a very strange
comment to her. "Yes, I should have spoken about it. Rural girls are our
main resource."
(They have killed the rural young men. And now they want to sell the
rural young women) .
"We must convince the rural girls. We must win them over . We must
train them. We must make an art of this. By we, I mean we, the upper class
women who have the culture, we must take the initiative".

Basil Fernando: Six Short Stories of Sri Lanka
There were no more questions.
(The smart women seemed happy).
The meeting was adjourned.
*****
The Old Man and the Canal
The old man had sat by the canal most of the time each day for the last
ten years or so. He was eighty two years old, and had given up work. The
canal, just in front of his house, was a few centuries old.
All his life he had lived close to the canal, or, shall we say, connected
with the canal. He was a washerman, and so were all his neighbors.
Officially the area where they lived was a part of a village. But, bound
by a collective feeling, these neighbors had thought of themselves as a single
village for a long time. In fact, there were boundaries written in the minds of
the people which were not found on maps.
There was the area near the sea which belonged to the Karawa fish-
13)
ermen. The fishermen and the Rahda washermen were generally friends.
There were deadly fights between fishermen, ending up in murders.
One death from one family led to another death from another family, and it
went on like that.
But the washermen were united. They helped the fishermen whenever
they could. Everybody feared to provoke the wasliermen. They would stand
up to a man, and be merciless. Only they resisted the first capitalist of the
area when he tried to grab the poor people's lands forcibly. Their resistance
14)
took the form of guerrilla warfare, and was told as a legend.
Outside such occasions, the fishermen were very peaceful people,
always carrying within themselves a very strong sense of justice.
There was another group of people living in a section close to the
church. They claimed to belong to the farmers' caste. But there were no pad-
159

160 KEIEI TO KEIZAI
dy fields anywhere near there. They were just a few families, but they owned
most of the land. They kept aloof from the rest of the village. Some of the
men worked as clerks in some Colombo offices, but to the other villagers
they created the impression that they were doing some big jobs in the city.
In fact, these people who claimed to belong to the Govigama, the
15)
highest caste, were the most insecure people in the village. And they were
the ones who created most of the trouble among the people.
This brief description of the village shows the reader the only world
that our old man really knew and cared about.
As Independence was granted to Sri Lanka in 1948, we may calculate
the age of our old man as forty one then. This means that he had lived forty
one years as a subject of the British Empire.
He had begun to work early. He married early. When his first wife died
giving birth to his first child, a beautiful baby girl, he had remarried her
sister. By the time of Freedom he had all but the last child, altogether seven,
of whom two had died young.
Despite all that, this man, who was very fond of his memories, hardly
ever spoke of the Britishers or their rule. Not that he was a fool. Though his
education was almost all informal, he had a very sharp mind, supple enough
to grasp the nuances of life. He was really trying to forget that part of his
memory because it was too painful to remember it. In the deep area of the un-
161
conscious, where he felt the hurt most deeply, he buried the British.
In silence and in obscurity he had watched everything. Not that he
had done so purposefully or deliberately. But it had happened the same way
as it happens to the tortoise when it puts its head inside its shell. Then it
reads everything from the sounds and with other parts of the body than the
eyes. When everything is over it will walk again as if it had never felt any
danger.
In such a memory it was not only what was experienced directly that

Basil Fernando: Six Short Stories of Sri Lanka 161
was stored, but also what was told by the earlier generations through their
17>
direct sufferings. If there is a thing called collective memory of a common
threat, the old man's generation had one. But they normally lived as if they
had none.
The old man had told his children and his grandchildren. and other
children that there were lots of fruits in the jungle when he was young. He
would tell how he plucked a big ripe jack fruit from the jungle, ate as much
as he could, and left the balance for the birds to eat.
He told about his wooden boat by which he went to the river in the
evening to fish, with a friend always, and about how much fish they used to
catch and how some big fish were caught now and then.
days.
He would tell of the Samba rice and Dal, which was cheap in those
He would also tell of the funny clothes the rich people used to wear and
of all sorts of funny things that happened at the race course where he and
\81
some of his friends had gone whenever they could.
Even when he did not tell about these things he would recall them
over and over again as he watched the high tide and the low tide of the canal,
monthe after month, year after year.
The canal was his place of peace, till something suddenly happened.
Within the short period of about one month the canal made the old man
restless, and finally he avoided it as if it were some evil place.
One day when he walked to his place near the canal there was a large
crowd looking at the canal, and others were coming towards the place.
There was the body of a man in the canal.
Though not usual, sometimes bodies used to float in it, when someone
had drowned or committed suicide or at times was murdered.
Some villagers would soon take the body out and then inform the
police, and that would be the end of the matter.

162 KEIEl TO, KElZAl
But in the weeks preceding this event there had been rumors of the ar­
my killing young people. Nobody got into the canal to take this body out. It
went upward at the high tide and came back at the low tide.
The old man did not go near the canal to see it. But he was aware of
everything in the tortoise fashion. He was a good sleeper, but that day he
could not sleep. When he went into sleep a little he would see the body of his
young son floating in the canal, and he woke up quickly. Again and again this
would happen, till the sunrise, and then, of course, he could not sleep, as if it
were some sort of shame to sleep when the sun was shining bright in the mor­
ning.
Next day he sat in front of his house, but not so close to the canal. The
morning went all right. But in the afternoon another body floated by. That
night he awoke with a sharp cry. He could vividly remember the dream
which made him scream. He saw the huge statue of Christ, which was kept in
a resting position after the Good Friday Passion service, floating in the canal.
He and his young son were on either side of the Christ's body, like the two
thieves.
In the weeks that followed there were many bodies, and on two occa­
sions four and five bodies on the same day.
The old man dreamed of everyone whom he had known in childhood,
everyone he had loved, floating in the canal. A frightened look began to ap­
pear in his face. He did not talk at all.
An ancient memory had begun to waken in him. He dreamed of foreign
looking people running riot at his village with swords and guns, killing in­
fants and newly born babies, and torturing others.
He was not seen near the canal again.
*****

Basil Fernando: Six Short Stories of Sri Lanka 163
Eighteen Headless Bodies
The professor is on his way to the campus of the University of
Peradeniya.
the time.
He has been away in Colombo because the campus is closed most of
But he cannot be away from the University for long. That is where he
had studied (that was the best time, of course), where he met his wife, found
employment (which he never changed), built his reputation.
Thirty years or so. All of his adult intellectual life.
Most University graduates become intellectually adult rather quickly
after graduation, when they begin to deal with the "outside" world.
It takes a longer time for those who take to academic life.
The Professor has no idea that he is going to see a very special exhibi­
tion today in this great place of learning.
But he can sense a very unusual tension as he turns his car onto the
road leading to the campus.
Tension was nothing unusual to the campus. So if he feels something
unusual there is something really unusal.
He is not the sort of man who would wait to ask others. Events have
come and gone in this University, even some very bad ones. So what was
there to be afraid of? Going to the heart of the matter - that was what he
was trained to do in his academic work.
The Professor pushes himself through the crowd. No one really gives
way. No one takes any notice of him. That is unusual too given the recogni­
tion he had in this campus.
As he gets closer he tries to look over the crowd. But he is too short. It
was better to push further ahead. Finally he is there, and he takes his first
look.
He instinctively shook his head. Was he going to faint? For a few

Basil Fernando: Six Short Stories of Sri Lanka 165
NOTES
1) In Sri Lanka, people do not generally know about samurai and do not equate samurai
with murderers. In "Albert the Murderer" Basil Fernando does not treat Albert as a
murderer. The villagers in the story do treat him as such because of some aspect of
themselves that they are afraid of. ("Minimaru Albert" is Sinha1a for Alfred the
Murderer) .
2) The villagers are vindictive towards Albert's children, expressing another aspect of Sri
Lankan Sinha1a culture in which, according to 'Fernando, tolerance is much talked about
although intolerance is widely practiced.
3) Albert challenges the villagers because he is so different from them. In contrast to their
passiveness and resignation to fate, he searches for action. The villagers fear action;
Albert does not.
4) Fernando has commented that during feudal times social life in Sri Lanka was slow.
There were few big landlords or wholly impoverished peasants. There was little ag­
gressive exploitation of nature. Nor was there a manifestation of creativity such as there
was in China, India and Japan. Sri Lankan Buddhism discouraged expressive forms of art.
This situation was followed by a long period of colonialism that continuously and
thoroughly suppressed the people's frank and full expression. The worst aspect of this con­
dition was that "People learned to retire to their souls, as all forms of action were followed
by severe punishments, often death".
5) 'Some people wished that Albert were dead because his presence is provocative.
Albert's presence questions the way society maintains its so-called balance. Basil Fernan­
do notes that many people have recently fled from Sri Lanka out of fear. "Who wants to
kill them and for what reason? Not for any crime they have committed, but because their
presence is a challenge to the so-called balance that keeps the mechnaism of fear and in­
timidation safely working".
6) In Sinhala usage it is common to add "Aiya" (literally elder brother) to the name when
addressing an adult male. The names " Konaiya " and' "Manaiya" are of foreign origin and
lack Sinhala meaning.
7) By "those days" Fernando refers to a generation fast disappearing in Sri Lanka, his
father's generation, now displaced by modern education and circumstances. When

166 KEIEl TO KElZAl
Konaiya, thus displaced, goes back to his "own" village, there is no one to receive him,
and he becomes a beggar in order to survive.
8) Basil Fernando has said that not long ago there lived in Sri Lanka a generation that did
not attach as much significance to time as people do today. "Life to them was one single
event, as it were" .
9) The setting of "Konaiya" is a Catholic suburb close to Colombo. From there to Buddhist
Matara is far away geographically and culturally, in the story. Modem transportation has
brought both places closer, about three hours journey by car. Konaiya's generation either
walked all the way or went by bullock-drawn cart.
10) Basil Fernando explains his concept of resistance in this way: A very learned Catholic
priest who was murdered about two years ago, allegedly by members of the armed forces,
told Fernando a story about Buthala, a village in the hill country, where he devoted the
last few years of his life living close to the people. In 1818 there was a great rebellion
against the British colonialization in the Buthala area. This rebellion was most inhumane­
ly crushed. The priest said that in the 1980s he discovered in the people of Buthala a
memory of the old resistance.
11) Dane = Sinhala for alms giving.
12) Colombo 7 is an upper middle class area of Colombo. In "Colombo 7 type", Fernando
is following the lead of Sinhala novels such as Colomba Rathe Nonala (Colombo Seven
Women) and Sankara Nonalamisturbed Ladies)concerning upper class Sri Lankan
women ready to dance to the tune of foreigners and who had little love for the country or
the culture of Sri Lanka. According to Fernando, even women of the upper class in India
preserved Indian culture as they refused to change their ways to adjust to the British col­
onizers' ways, but the same cannot be said of the upper class women of Sri Lanka. Fernan­
do admits there were exceptions and that he is using a type well-known in Sinhala fiction.
13) Both Rahda and Karawa were considered "low" caste.
14) Fishermen went to sea in fragile wooden boats and spent much of their lives on the deep
seas in very hard conditions. When they were back on shore they fought hard among
themselves. Perhaps the tremendous insecurity they felt at sea made them also feel in­
secure on land?
Washermen were exposed to greater humiliation. Most of the time they manifested

Basil Fernando: Six Short Stories of Sri Lanka 167
greater passiveness. But when they acted they acted together with great ferocity. They
were feared for this.
15) One reason for the insecurity of the "high" caste people was that they used their wits
against ignorant people to grab the lands of the poor on the cheap. They knew that many
people did not like them, and they knew that it was not safe for them to be too close to peo­
ple they had cheated.
16) Mental suppression, Basil Fernando has said, is the most common psychological
phenomenon in Sri Lanka and the most long standing legally from colonial times. Now, he
says, the local police and the military are re-enforcing this phenomenon in cruel and brutal
ways.
17) Fernando says these people have suffered continuous "cruel and inhuman treatment"
for over 500 years. Of course, he admits, there have been intervals of peace.
18) Funny, because at times these clothes were imitations of British upper class dress of
those days, with local additions. There was an expression, "Gentleman under clothes",
because some wore under their local garb trousers that could be seen. It was also part of
local vanity to wear medals received from the British.